


Suicide Bridge

by pjlover666, silberstreif



Series: Collaboration [12]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Dark Comedy, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Swearing, good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11791794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif
Summary: Once two mechs met on a bridge. Each one had a simple and very final plan, which definitely didn't take another mech into count. Worse, that other mech started toargue.





	Suicide Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Probably one of the strangest stories we have ever written together. Short, and oddly sweet, we fell in love with it after rediscovering it among our files a few weeks ago. Immediately it was decided that it deserves to be known by a wider audience.
> 
> Beta: Starfire201, a huge thank you to her

 

_**Suicide Bridge** _

_**~ where mechs meet and fall** _

 

Once there was a huge grey city with looming towers and sprawling highways. The city was cut apart in the middle by a black, deep river, filled with tar, acid and all the things mechs wanted to forget. Only a few high and thin bridges crossed the river, turning the two halves into one.

No mech wanted to linger here, on these swaying constructions, far above the black water and surrounded by the cold winds. Yet one afternoon **,** two black and white mechs found themselves optic to visor at the highest point of a bridge. One had just put a leg over the railing, the other was kneeling on the other side without any protection against falling.

For a long moment, they both simply stared at each other, then the kneeling one stood up and snapped: "Hey, I came here first! Go find some other place to offline yourself!"

"Excuse me?” The newcomer landed on the forbidden side and his blue optics flashed with sudden anger. “This bridge is public property, free for every mech to use. And besides, I am perfectly capable of choosing where and how I want to die. And that is definitely here and _alone_!"

The argument failed to impress the other mech. "Frag off! I've been planning on how to die for meta-cycles now! This is my grave, go find yourself another one."

A fluttering doorwing suggested mocking laughter. "You call a river a grave? Do you even understand the meaning of an ever-flowing river, of a death in water’s embrace? Just jump in front of a train if you want a meaningless grave."

The other made a rude gesture with his middle finger. "This just shows you randomly picked this river, you moron." He showed the nuisance by opening his subspace which was filled with grey metal scrap. "I plan on sinking to the bottom, not getting washed up on some shore and creeping out the mechs who find me. If ya wanna get washed away, go find yourself another river! Pit, the Rust Sea isn't far, go there!"

The mech with the doorwings crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. "As if those weights are enough,” he said drily. “You will get washed away either way.”

"If you must know, I weigh ten times my mass now," came the short answer. "Primus, why did you have to pick this place? It’s not like there aren’t seven identical bridges in this city. _Seven_!"

"I picked this specific bridge, because I can see it from my apartment and as such it has meaning to me.” He made a vague handwave towards the high rising buildings at the foot of the bridge. “What about you? Did you throw a dart on a map or simply walked over here by chance?"

"If you must know, this is where my brother crashed and died many vorns ago!" growled the shorter one. His visor had become nearly white with anger. "But enough about me. Why, pray tell, does a shiny mech like ya wanna kill himself? All this rusty water isn’t exactly good for ya finish."

"I don’t care about my finish, and I have far more profound reasons that simply deciding to follow a brother into death. Which is so very reasonable. Let me guess, life got too difficult for you to bear alone after what, two vorns?” A huff. “Try living alone with no one to mourn or miss you and then we can talk."

"It's better than living the rest of your functioning in _silence_!" The clenched fist promised violence. "And I'm not doing this because of him - it was a long time ago and I've dealt with the pain. But you! Mech, you are something else!" He chuckled. "I'm going deaf and you have honestly decided to off yourself because no one will LOVE you? Are you fragging with me?"

The other pushed himself away from the railing and advanced towards the smaller mech until they were both only centimetres away from each other and certain death.

"As if you of all mechs have room to criticise me! You're merely going deaf, but at least you still have your voice! Switch with me, I can speak, hear and see, yet no one bothers to ever listen to me. The whole world is deaf to me and you fit just right in."

"MAKE them listen!" He threw his arms into the air and gestured to the city before them. "Life's not easy, mech! It's not nice! It's hard and most of the time it’s cruel and unfair! But you have a problem that has a frigging solution! And you here, on my spot, trying to kill yourself because no one listens to you? That's absurd! You're literally going to waste your life for that?!"

"I waste my life?” The Praxian squared his shoulders. “I am just tired of seeing idiots run towards their death and me getting the blame for their decisions. Just how do you make someone like that listen?” A tiny pause. “For a supposedly deaf person **,** you are already better than them."

"I’m going deaf and am not quite there yet, mech,” was the sardonic answer. “So, basically, because 90% of the population are idiots, you want to kill yourself?" For a long moment, there was only the wind on the bridge and the mechs driving by. "They're idiots **,** you fool, of course they won’t get you, or listen to you for that matter! But here you are, acting even more stupidly than them for letting their words and actions get to you! Let them live their dumb insignificant lives! You actually seem to have the potential to do something significant and you're going to waste yourself coz you didn't get the approval of those who should be beneath you!" He gave the other a sharp look. "Maybe you're a bigger idiot than them! Now I definitely don't want you killing yourself on my spot!"

"Maybe if they would leave me alone I could just...” The voice trailed away. “But they don't and what kind of life is this? I'm in disgrace, wherever I go they call me murderer, ignoring whatever I say. And here you are, deaf but listening, about to end your life as if things like letters or hand signs don’t exist!"

"You are the one not listening!" yelled the other suddenly. "There's always a way! Start a new identity, start a new life! Or better yet - find a way to prove them wrong, find the real murderer or whatever the case is and stick it up their afts for being mindless fuckers who are nothing but bloodthirsty. And as for me?" He gestured to himself. "Life is NOTHING without my music. What kind of a musician am I if I can’t hear my own songs? I refuse to exist if music isn't part of my existence!"

The doorwinger rolled his optics. "Now who is getting melodramatic? **'** Uh, help, I have no music! Only friends and family and a nice life, but it isn't enough! **'** How self-centred do you have to be to kill yourself because of that? Newsflash, music does not stop existing just because you can't hear it."

"What part of 'life is music for me' you didn't get?” the other screamed. “Music is EVERYTHING for me. Our creators died when I and my brother were young. Then my brother died on this very bridge!” A deep vent brought a bit of calm: "Music became my family and now it's literally slipping away... I refuse to spend my life in silence!!!"

A tiny, incredulous shake of the helmet. "Are you truly so afraid of silence that you will not even use the time you still have?"

"Now who's talking! You have the chance, the real possibility to actually change your situation, but oh no **: '** no one loves me, they all hate me! **'** Big deal! Prove them they are wrong! Don't wallow in your self-pity. That **'s** just pathetic."

"I'm a Praxian response tactician, I was literally _made_ for the job I was just fired from in disgrace! How much more can a mech fail?"

"So, what! Whenever you fall, get up! If they knock ya down, then just get up all over again. This is fixable!” The conviction let every syllable vibrate. “Everything, so long as it's not health related, is fixable! Ya have all the time in the world to DO something! Because if ya kill yourself, here, on my spot, they’ll remember ya only as the one at fault! As the tactician who did wrong!” He said quietly, in the tone of sharing a secret, “This is not the end, mech."

A raised optic brow was the only response to the passionate speech. "Try taking your own advice. You will just be the musician who could not stand to not be able hear his own songs. As if you might not have another talent or calling! Did you at least write your own requiem or were you too busy with your baseless fears?"

"Do ya not hear my words or are ya going deaf, too?! Music. Is. My. LIFE.” The words were like punches. “Are you stupid or do you just have comprehension disability? How do you expect me to exist in a world filled with silence?! At least when someone insults ya, ya can hear it! "

"Oh yes, I am very capable of hearing the insults to my face or whispered behind my back. And just to calm your apparent worries about my capabilities, I am also able to read them on my door.” The sarcasm was acidic. “Believe me if someone wants to insult you they will find many and creative ways."

"But WHY are you letting the insults get ta you? Ya said it wasn't your fault! Fight and prove the idiots wrong and regain your honour or whatever! What ya’re doing is just rolling over and dying."

“… Maybe I am. But is that so wrong, when I feel as if I deserve no better?” The Praxian stepped to the edge and looked down, ignoring the momentous panic on the other’s face. "As you said, I should have made them listen. ..."

The other stopped by his side. "...It's not too late, y'know. Ya still haven't jumped. So long as your spark still beats, it's never too late to prove them wrong."

"My squad is dead,” was the toneless answer. “And I-  I was supposed to lead them and they just...." The voice broke.

All the previous anger evaporated. "And yet, this is how you’ll honour their death? By joining them in it?" he asked quietly. "Isn’t it better to do it by regaining ya honour? Don't pay for another’s mistake with ya own life. Don’t give them anything at all if ya ask me..."

The doorwinger though seemed to have barely heard him. With lost optics he stared down, seeing a very different scene. "It was a simple fire. In the east, far from our headquarters **,** but we were called anyway. There were screams from the inside and I told them that they couldn't go in, that it was too late... they just ignored me. I couldn’t - … didn’t - …  should have just threatened them."

"Are ya even listening to yourself now?" the other asked incredulously. "Every mech has a head with a functioning CPU in it. They _chose_ to ignore ya, knowing full well what the risk was. But they still did it to save lives. And that is a pretty cool thing, seriously, but ya taking the blame for their actions... that's just insane. And unfair towards you. And towards their families as well. Because while ya take the blame for not properly protecting your squad, all the attention is on ya and not on the mechs who tried to do the right thing. Has anyone even told you this is not, and never will be, your fault?"

A shake of the helmet was all the answer needed. "They just ran into their deaths. If there had been any chance... but there wasn't and that's what I told them. They just called me a stick-aft, sparkless tactician and proceeded... But there is no need to worry about their families. We were all commissioned together as a squad and I am the only one left." He looked towards the river. "It is my fault. I just...wasn’t good enough and didn’t have their trust."

"It is not your fault!" he yelled, but this time the anger was for an entirely different reason. "Do you hear me? It's NOT your fault! Were ya the one who pointed a gun at them? Did ya pull the trigger? Did ya or not tell them to NOT proceed! Ya shouldn't take blame for their deaths! Ya were right, mech. In every sense, in every possible way **,** right! And just because mechs need a target to vent their stupid frustration, that just proves they are _idiots_! Argh, mech, you are making me so angry right now! It's not your fault! It is NOT your fault? Do I have to shout it out? You tried to save them! There was nothing, _NOTHING_ , more you could've done for them! And I'm sorry you lost your squad and I'm sorry you’re grieving, but if you have come here this orn to kill yourself, ‘cause ya stupidly, idiotically, believe that their deaths are your fault, then ya have come to the wrong place! Because Primus help me, mech, you're not dying! Not this orn! And definitely NOT here!"

After the rant, he was heaving hard, vents working fast to cool the smaller black and white frame.

The former tactician just stared at him for a long time. "It’s more. I failed the one thing I was created for,” he finally said quietly. “It's .... it's like you and music I guess. I lived for my job."

"But ya can still do it," was the determined answer. "I will eventually lose all my hearing **;** Primus knows I can’t already properly hear music... But you can still think! You can still use that huge CPU of yours to help other mechs. This shouldn't be how your story ends."

Now the Praxian fully turned away from the river and towards him. "I can't return to the forces. I can't ever do my job again. I will never be with them again.... I can't be the mech I was."

"Then don't be him. Life goes on, mechs change - you change - you can never go back to the mech you were. The mech you want to be is still in reach. But only if ya won’t take a dive here in the river."

A hesitant switch of a doorwing, then a frown. "Why should I try to achieve that on your word, if you cannot do the same? After all, have you ever tried to be a novelist? I bet not **."**

"I..." The heated reply was ready. The musician was ready to defend himself, but instead what came out was the untarnished truth. "…I'm scared." The wrought his hands, while the other just waited. "I'm scared of the world going quiet. Of the silence. That I won’t find a place to exist in such a world... I'm a musician, mech. I can no longer compose songs and soon even the stupid device that helps me hear won’t be enough... what then?"

"... Maybe you could find something else? I mean **,** just from standing here I can already tell you would be a great counsellor." The last part was said nearly shyly.

A bitter laugh escaped the musician. "Right. I just wouldn’t be able to, y'know, HEAR the mechs."

“Why not specialise for deaf patients?"

He opened his mouth, closed it and then just shook his helmet. Around them the wind howled, as he looked down at the river. "It's really far down..."

The Praxian followed his gaze. "It is quite cold as well.”

“Yeah…” He stared into the deep, dark water.

“…Maybe you would you like a warm cube in my apartment? As I said, I live nearby…You just have to ignore the graffiti at the door."

"I…” A surprised jerk, far too close to the edge, then he steadied again. A klick passed, and then the musician relaxed with a deep, deep sigh. When he turned to his companion, he was slightly smiling. “Yeah... I guess it’s really too cool for a swim this orn." A tiny, awkward shrug. "And I'll take your advice...um, I don't think I caught your name?"

"Prowl.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Just Prowl now. No titles. And you?"

"I'm Jazz, never had any titles.” The smile widened. “Though I kinda can't say it's a pleasure to meet ya, with both of us trying to kill ourselves and all that other drama... but I can say it isn’t interesting to meet ya."

"Definitely interesting. And lucky."

Prowl climbed back over the railing and held out his hand. Jazz took it and together they walked down the bridge.

 


End file.
